


Ouch or The True Story of How Timothy Callahan Acquired One of His Scars

by babs



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babs/pseuds/babs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  The title really sums it up. Timothy acquires a scar. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Ouch or The True Story of How Timothy Callahan Acquired One of His Scars

Title: Ouch or The True Story of How Timothy Callahan Acquired One of His Scars  
Pairing: Timmy/Don    
Rating:PG-13  
Summary:  The title really sums it up. Timothy acquires a scar.   
Warnings/Spoilers: None  
Disclaimer: I really really really wish Donald and Timothy were mine, but alas, they belong to each other and Richard Stevenson.

Many thanks to my beta[](http://joag.livejournal.com/profile)[ **joag**](http://joag.livejournal.com/)   who is a new convert to the joys of this fandom and to the wonderfulness that is Donald and Timothy!  


  
I woke up and just knew something was wrong. My detecting skills at their finest, I began an assessment. Hmm--house noises all normal. Neighborhood noises, ditto. Warm body next to mine, check. Warm body is Timothy Callahan's, oh my yes. He was frowning in his sleep yet again. The sunlight peeking through the curtains showed me that. Sunlight. That was it. That was what was wrong. I looked at the clock and oh shit, we both overslept by an hour and a half.

"Tim." I gave him a nudge as I sat up. "Tim. Wake up. It's close to 9:00."

Tim gave a grunt and then opened his eyes. "Go back to bed." He appeared to drift back to sleep.

"Timothy." I yanked the covers off of him and watched as he opened his eyes again. This time he focused on me. "It's nearly nine. You're already going to be late for work. You want to be even later?"

Now, Timothy Callahan is nothing if not dependable. I think people at his office actually set their watches by him. The light dawned on him and he practically leapt out of bed.

"Ow." He banged his knee into a chair and kept going into the bathroom. I knew better than to follow. Besides, my schedule was a bit more flexible than his.

"I'll make coffee," I yelled as I heard the shower start. While I was at it, I decided I could make eggs too. I could put them on some bread so Tim had a sandwich to eat on his way to work, although knowing Tim, he would worry about messing up his suit.

As it turned out, neither eggs nor coffee were necessary. Tim took one look at both and his face turned paler that it already was.

"I'm okay," Tim said in response to my question. "I think the Thai food we had last night didn't agree with me."

I didn't agree with his assessment. "I ate the same food," I pointed out.

He tried to duck away when I put my hand to his forehead. "You're warm."

He grinned, but combined with the way his eyes were all scrunchy, and his skin was pale, it had a creepy effect. "I just took a shower." He turned away and I thought I saw him wince.

"Stay home," I urged him. "Surely Timothy Callahan, the wonder boy, can take a day off now and then. You, sweetheart, are sick."

He held up his hand. "I can't be sick. We have the details of the high school students' honors banquet to finalize-it's tomorrow night and..."

"You.Are.Sick." I repeated, more slowly in case he hadn't understood me the first time.

"And I told you, Donald, that our dinner last night didn't agree with me." He grabbed his briefcase and his coat. "I'm probably going to be late tonight." He didn't look at me as he took his keys from the basket.

"Timmy," I appealed to him one last time.

"If I get things wrapped up, I'll come home early," he finally said.

"Love you," I said to his retreating back. People never thought Tim was stubborn--they thought I was the obstinate one. Ha--little did they know how wrong they were.

I looked at the eggs, now cold, and nuked them in the microwave before scarfing them down and heading up to take my own shower.

****

I was proud of my self-control. I resisted the urge to call Tim on my way to the office, and for the first hour there.

"Callahan," he answered when I gave in to my urges.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line and a hesitation. He was debating whether or not to lie to me.

"Not the greatest," he finally admitted.

"Tim," I began but he interrupted me.

"I can finish up here in a few hours," he said and then added in that tone that I would hate to hear if I worked for him, "if I'm not interrupted further."

"I was going to say I love you," I told him. Hey I needed to feel as if I still had some control of the situation.

The great thing about Timothy is that his emotions are always right out there. I could feel his smile through the phone. "I love you too, Donald."

The call ended, and I sat there for a minute just holding the phone. I looked up to see Kenny watching me.

"Pull up all the information you can on Mike Willis," I told him and opened the file on my desk.

* * * *

I came back from grabbing myself a burger and fries to find Kenny standing at his desk. He looked concerned--a look that I'm not used to associating with my office manager/junior partner.

"Kenny?" I put the bag with my food on his desk.

"Someone just called from Senator Platt's office," he said. "She said they tried your cell phone but couldn't get you."

I pulled my cell out of my pocket and flipped it open. Dark, of course. "Forgot to recharge it," I told him. Meanwhile my stomach started to twist itself into a knot and my hands went kind of cold. "What's going on?"

"She said to tell you that they called an ambulance for Mr. Callahan," he continued. "He's on his way to Albany General."

I told him he was sick but did he listen to me? Nope. Of course not. "When?" I asked Kenny even as I was headed out the door.

He glanced at the clock. "About a half hour ago."

I nodded to him and ducked out the office without further explanation.

There was lunch time traffic and it was slow going across town. Despite my urge to speed, I figured being stopped for a ticket and/or being in an accident would piss Timothy off so I was a good little driver.

I went into the emergency room and then waited in line to talk to the receptionist. I looked around but there was no sign of Timothy--no sign of anyone I even knew.

"Mr. Strachey?"

I spun around when I heard my name. Linda, Lindsay, no, not right. "Lena," I finally said. I didn't know her that well, only that she was another staffer for Senator Platt. "Is Timothy here?"

She nodded, her dark eyes somber. "He didn't want to come to the hospital but when he doubled over in a meeting with the senator, well..." she trailed off.

I finally moved up to the desk. "Donald Strachey. I'm here for Timothy Callahan." I pulled out the POA and handed it to her. She checked it, and then typed on her computer before she looked back up.

"Mr. Callahan is in Treatment Room Three," she said with a smile. "You can wait with him if you like."

I nodded. She let me through the doors and I found Tim on a gurney right where she said I would. He was hooked up to an IV and he looked even worse than he had when I last saw him. It was obvious he was in pain.

"Timmy? Sweetheart?" I asked as I went closer.

He looked at me, but I didn't think there was anyone home. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

A nurse came in the cubicle scant seconds later. "You must be Donald," she said. She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry you can't stay. Mr. Callahan is being prepped for surgery."

I stared at her. "Surgery."

"Doctor Peters is coming back in a minute or two," she said and started to pull the curtain around Timothy's gurney.

Surgery. He was sick from Thai food. Wasn't that all it was? I felt useless, and I hated feeling useless. Timothy was in pain, hurting, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

I stepped out into the hall and was met by a doctor who appeared way too young to actually have a medical degree.

"Mr. Strachey?" At my nod, he continued. "Doctor Peters. Mr. Callahan assured us you would be here before he went into surgery.

"About that," I said. "I thought he had food poisoning."

The doctor grinned although I had no idea what could possibly be amusing about Tim needing surgery. "Mr. Callahan has appendicitis. We're going to be taking him to surgery in a few minutes."

I winced in sympathy. No wonder he was in so much pain.

"I'll have someone give you directions to the surgery waiting room. You'll be able to see Mr. Callahan after he comes out of recovery. Barring any complications, he should be able to go home in a few days."

"Thank you," I said and shook his hand. "Is it possible...can I see him before you take him up?"

Peters smiled again. "Of course. He's probably not going to remember it though."

"No. But I will." I told him.

I followed him back into the small cubicle which suddenly seemed more crowded with the nurse, the doctor and someone I thought might be another doctor considering the scrubs she wore and the way she studied the monitor Tim was hooked to.

"This is Doctor Rhajit," Peters said. "She's the anesthesiologist."

She nodded in my direction and then to Peters before she excused herself.

Peters motioned to the nurse and they stood a short distance away while I bent low by Tim's side. As Peters had warned, Timothy was really out of it.

"Don..." his voice was more a puff of air than actual sound.

"I'm here, sweetheart. You're going to be fixed up soon," I said. I kissed him on the forehead and then on the lips. "Just go to sleep and you'll wake up feeling a lot better."

Two orderlies came to the room and with Peters' permission I walked beside the gurney all the way to the OR waiting room.

"I'll be waiting," I told Timothy one more time, but I didn't think he heard me. In a way, I hoped not. I wanted him to stop hurting.

* * * *

Lena showed up at the waiting room and I asked her to let Senator Platt know what was going on. She patted my shoulder, handed me Timothy's cell phone and left quietly. I sat there and had no idea what to do. I thought maybe I should call Kenny and let him know what was going on, although I wasn't sure what he could actually do. I glanced at the sign that said not to use a cell phone. I wondered why. Would it do something to the equipment? Cause all those monitor thingies I remembered from those made-for-TV dramas Timothy insisted we watch at times to go haywire? I studied his cell and looked around furtively--and didn't do anything. Because I had this horrible thought that if I did, and something happened to Timothy, he'd come back and haunt me. My stomach did that odd little flip-flop thing it had done earlier when Kenny first said Tim had been taken from work in an ambulance. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and thought happy thoughts. Timothy, me, a couple of martinis, and a tropical breeze. Timothy, me, a fire in our fireplace. Whatever the thoughts were, Timothy always always was in them with me.

"Mr. Strachey." I opened my eyes to see Doctor Peters standing in front of me. "Mr. Callahan is out of surgery and in recovery. Someone will let you know when he's being moved to a room."

"You said..." the flip flop in my stomach competed with the thudding of my heart. "Complications?"

Peters shook his head. "Totally routine. We'll talk more details when Mr. Callahan is more coherent but I don't foresee any problems at all." He shook my hand again and headed down the hall.

I sat down quickly because for a minute I felt light-headed. He was going to be okay. Timothy was going to be just fine. I closed my eyes and sent up a prayer on Timmy's behalf. I was pretty sure that would make him happy.

* * * *  
Even after he came out of the recovery room, Timothy still wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. The nurse who was checking his IV smiled maternally as Timothy told her quite earnestly that she was a beautiful Mother Superior.

"It's just the after effects of the anesthesia," she told me. "He won't remember a thing."

By evening, though, Timothy was more awake. And more awake meant awareness of pain. I think he took it as a personal affront that his body had betrayed him. A cold here and there, maybe a stomach virus once every few years, but that was about it for sickness in Timothy Callahan's world. If he hadn't looked so pathetic I probably would have laughed. As it was, I held his hand, kissed his forehead because I was afraid kissing him on the lips might give him some sort of infection or something, and reassured him that hitting the pain control did not mean he was in any way, shape, or form a wimp. I didn't bother to tell him that hitting it five times in a row didn't deliver any more pain relief.

Doctor Peters came in after we'd watched Wheel of Fortune and guessed all the puzzles. I won, but only because Timothy wasn't up to par. He said that Timothy would be out of the hospital day after tomorrow at the latest and that later on, the nurses would be by to get Timothy standing and maybe walking a few steps. And yes, Timothy would be back to work in three weeks or so but no, he wouldn't be back to work at the end of this one.

It was when the nurses got him standing and taking a few steps that the realization hit Tim. I'd been through major surgery before, Timothy never had. Realizing that one didn't just bounce back from having layers of muscle cut and a part of one's body cut out was a major revelation to him. The nurses left and Timothy grabbed my hand. He had tears in his eyes and I brushed them away with a tissue.

"Oh baby," I whispered. "I know you hurt." I stroked his hair with my free hand while he held tighter to the other.

He didn't say anything although I knew he wanted to. I just don't think he could without crying.

"It's gonna be okay," I told him. "You'll feel better in a few days, I promise."

He nodded and closed his eyes. It wasn't long before he fell asleep. I kissed him when the nurses told me it was time to leave an hour and a half later and went home to an empty house.

* * * *

By the time Timothy left the hospital two days after his emergency surgery, I think nearly every single one of the people from Senator Platt's office had been by to visit. I knew Timothy was well-liked and that people cared about him, but it was an eye-opener to me to see just how much he meant to them. Coming home was a different story. Timothy sighed as we came in the front door. I kept my arm around him and guided him towards the sofa.

He sat down gingerly and I bent down and untied his shoes for him. He wiggled his sock-clad toes and then let out another sigh.

"Thanks." He motioned for me to sit beside him. I did. Gently. I hadn't missed the wince he made when he first sat.

"You want to watch a movie?" I asked. "Take a nap? Need a drink or snack?"

He shook his head. "I just want you. I missed you."

"I missed you too," I said and kissed him full on the mouth, but with care because I didn't want to jostle anything that shouldn't be jostled. I'd listened to the doctor's instructions and restrictions against strenous activity.

I shouldn't have worried because Timmy ended the kiss first and yawned.

"Definitely a nap," I said.

He smiled ruefully. "Sorry." He wasn't supposed to go up and down stairs more than twice or three times a day, so I helped him stretch out on the sofa and found a blanket for him. He was asleep quicker than I thought he would be. I took advantage of it to give Kenny a call and get updates on what was happening.

"Got it all covered, boss," Kenny said. I could hear the tippety tap of his fingers on the keyboard. "How's Mr. Callahan?"

"He'll be okay," I said. To my relief, I realized he would. It would take some time but Timothy was going to be back to his normal self within weeks. I couldn't help smiling as it hit me. "You want to come around about five and bring the files on Bergman, Lundt, and Riley?"

"Will do," Kenny said. "See you then."

I hung up the phone and sat on the coffee table, something Tim never ever let me do, and watched Timmy sleep, my heart nearly full to bursting with the love I felt for him.

* * * *

"No, Donald."

"Please?" I was just as good at wheedling as the next guy when necessary.

Timothy laughed as I ran my fingers lightly at his ribs and then down to the waistband of his slacks.

"Pretty pretty please?" I tried batting my eyelashes at him but he just laughed again.

"No." But that time it came out a bit strangled because I'd undone his fly and placed my hand right where it counted.

Timothy is ticklish in some odd places, and I know every single one so it didn't take long to have him on his back.

"Say uncle," I teased, unable to keep myself from laughing.

"I won't," Tim teased back. His attempt to look serious failed miserably. "God, Donald."

He gripped my hair as I gave his cock the attention it deserved. "My God," he said again although his voice kind of went into another register.

It was good. It was very very good. I think I might propose periods of celibacy so that our periods of love-making become even better. Four weeks of no sex--and I was way too afraid to risk anything that might possibly hurt Timothy during his recovery--had a way of making our first session much more erotic.

I lifted my head and looked at Timothy lying sprawled on his back, his chest covered with sweat, his eyes bright with desire.

"I love you, Donald Strachey," he said.

I smiled and bent down to study the scar that was the only memory of his appendicitis. It had healed nicely. I placed a kiss on it, then patted it gently before pushing myself up to lay beside Tim.

"I love you too, Timothy Callahan," I told him. I didn't think I'd ever be able to tell him how much. I don't think I even have the words to explain my love for him. It may sound corny but to me, he's like the part of me that was always missing until I found him. I never knew I needed him until he appeared in my life.

"Your scar is cute," I told him.

"Donald..." he honest to goodness whined at my comment.

"Okay, okay," I said. "How does sexy sound?"

"Much better," he said. He lay his head on my chest. "Sexy Timothy Callahan, that's me." and then he snorted.

We lay there in silence for a long while, Timothy falling asleep within a few minutes, me awake and as deep in thought as I ever get. I'd told Timmy I loved him earlier, but I didn't think I'd ever be able to tell him how much. I don't think I even have the words to explain my love for him. It may sound corny but to me, he's like the part of me that was always missing until I found him. I never knew I needed him until he appeared in my life. I rested my fingers against the slightly raised skin of his scar and hoped it was the only one he'd ever have. There, in the dark and the silence except for the rhythmic sound of Timothy's breathing, I realized that I was the luckiest bastard on the face of the earth. I might not have had much money but I had Timothy Callahan in my life, healthy and whole, and that was the best thing in the whole world.


End file.
